Forsythe cocked his head. “Why not?”
“Let’s just say I’d prefer he didn’t know.”
“Still sore that he got the picture and you didn’t?” Forsythe puckered his lips as he took a sip of his drink.
Monty glared at him. “Something like that.”
Forsythe hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t say I blame you. We all thought you had that one in the bag.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Oh, don’t take that the wrong way. Personally, I think it’s a great move.”
Monty took a long pull of his drink.
“You and Cal both need to get out of your comfort zones a bit,” he went on. “This’ll do you both good.”
Before Monty could say that he was really tired of people saying that, a pretty, plump redhead appeared at the edge of their table.
“Freddie,” she chided, “did you just drop me for a movie star?”
“Not at all. Just cheering up a friend. Kincaid, do you know Joan Dupree? Head writer for The Stargazer.”
Monty was suddenly very, very relieved that he’d only had half a drink.
“Oh, don’t look so alarmed,” Forsythe went on. “She’s a gem. We can keep this off the record, can’t we, Joanie? Keep that sharp-nosed magic of yours at bay?”
“Whatever you say, sugarpuss,” she said blithely, sliding into the booth on Monty’s other side. “Although I don’t think you can describe magic as having a nose. Yours certainly doesn’t.”
“No, I’d say mine has ears,” Forsythe said, looking thoughtful. “Yours sniffs out your good stories and mine—well, mine is like a little alarm bell in my head.”
Miss Dupree gave a snort and sipped her drink.
For his part, Monty had no idea how his private pity party had turned into an actual event. So much for laying low. He cleared his throat. With nothing to add to the strange topic of discussion, he switched to social niceties. It was safer. “Nice to meet you, Miss Dupree.”
“Did Freddie say you needed cheering up? What seems to be the trouble?”
Monty opened his mouth to say it was nothing, but Forsythe beat him to it. “Our friend is grieving being pulled out of the musical category.”
“It’s not that,” Monty protested. “It’s not just that,” he amended.
Miss Dupree leaned her chin on her fist. “What is it then?” At his wary glance, she flashed him a smile. “Strictly off the record. Promise.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it yet.”
Forsythe pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket and flicked it open, holding it out for Monty. Monty shook his head, but Miss Dupree took a cigarette and tapped it against the table top. Forsythe struck a match against the side of the table and lit hers first before lighting his own.
“Is it girl trouble?” he asked.
“No.”
“Boy trouble?”
“No.”
“Love trouble in general?”
“For goodness’ sake, no.”
